Page 22 of Princess of Air

“I’ll have to go to Ceraun to warn the staff about you.” She marches back into the kitchen.

It’s not a bad idea, really. They can’t possibly realize what’s coming. I take a bite of the tartlet, and though the center burns the roof of my mouth, it is absolutely worthwhile. “This is divine, Mary. Perhaps instead of simply warning them, you could stay and work in Ceraun.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh, and I take my leave. A new staff who hasn’t known me my entire life is another drawback I hadn’t considered. I’ve got this one accustomed to my jumping out of windows, floating around, and sneaking into the kitchens. It’ll be an entire undertaking to start over.

When I emerge from the back hallway to head out to the gardens, Lillian is coming from the opposite direction. I float the tartlet behind my back before she sees it. Jamys’ sister probably doesn’t even know where her own kitchen is located, since a princess has no reason to seek out snacks for herself. Her polished perfection is the kind that must be bone deep. Having never seen the slightest slip from it, I’m certain she is just as well comported in private as she is in public settings.

“Hello, Arabella.” Her tender smile is portrait ready, as always. “Are you done training for the day?”

“Perhaps. I’m taking a break, at least.”

“Well deserved, I’m sure. I’m sorry to miss you, but Jamys is still out there. I’m going in for a little rest.”

“Enjoy that.” I slide the tartlet around and continue down the hall while she might still see me. Before I can divert from my course, Jamys appears in my path. His clothing is less stiff and ornamented than last night, but the rich purple waistcoat and gold cravat are a jarring contrast to my leggings and tunic.

“Hello, there.” His eyes brighten to see me despite my casual appearance.

It should be easier to avoid people in a place so big. The tartlet is like a moon orbiting around me for all the ways I have to hide it. “Good afternoon. I’m surprised to see you about. It seemed rather dreadful to arrive after long travels and have a full itinerary of festivities the very next day.”

“A busy schedule is nothing out of the ordinary. Are you taking a break from yours?”

“Honestly, I don’t feel as if there’s anything I particularly need to be doing anyway.”

He tilts his head. “I thought you were preparing for the trials?”

“Without knowing what they’ll consist of, I don’t really see any way to prepare, so I thought I’d go sit in the garden for a while.”

“In that case, may I join you?” His green eyes are so open and inviting, I’d feel terrible to sound like I’m avoiding him. He’s trying to get us on a better track than the sterile one provided to us, and I should want the same.

“I was actually just about to have a bite to eat.”

“In the garden?”

Of course when I’m being honest, it sounds like an excuse. “Yes.” I pull my filched tartlet from behind my back. “I vex the staff terribly by not always taking proper meals.”

His face strains, lips pressed together, as if to contain laughter.

“I know, I’m—”

“Delightful. You’re delightful.” He gestures toward the door he’d just come in through, and I lead us out.

I wouldn’t think the Prince of Ceraun would appreciate such a thing. I’ve got to be everything he and Lillian were always taught not to be. King Urian has always struck me as the kind of person who could sniff out indecorum from a mile away and would assemble an army to snuff it out. I don’t suppose he’s missed my unsuitableness. Having magic to pass on to an heir probably forgives all my faults.

“Our cook might argue with your assessment, but regardless, I could never be half as delightful as this tartlet.” We make our way to a stone bench behind a bushy tree covered with white blossoms. “Would you like to try it?”

He looks confused for a moment, as if he can’t even imagine how he could try it without polished silverware and fine dishes.

“Just take a bite.” I hold it up to him, and he leans in to do as I say. His lip brushes my fingertip, sending contradicting messages through my body. Part of me likes the intimacy and wants to lean into it, but a noisy, stupid part shouts that those aren’t the lips I want to touch.

“That’s delicious.”

I swallow back the whirlwind of feelings. “Of course it is. And now we’re both eating a stolen tartlet in the garden like a pair of uncouth thieves.”

“I suppose we are.”

“Was this what you had in mind when you thought we might do something together?” I take a bite, enjoying his unsteadiness almost as much as the treat.

“Not at all.”

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